


no more memories anymore

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Theatre AU, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 22:45:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11976618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The one where there's a play, and Yuri makes too many bad decisions which somehow doesn't come back to bite him in the ass as much as he thought it would. As much as he deserves.The song he’s singing is a duet, but he’s making it work as a single, or at least he is to Yuri. It’s not a single, not from the way that he’s looking at Yuri. Yuri had the conversation on his own two months ago, and Otabek hadn’t said anything. Just nodded and Yuri had been too scared to look at him to understand what that had mean. Now, now, Otabek is answering him, word per fucking word. And fuck, Yuri would have thought it would be spiteful but he should have known better; Otabek is never spiteful. He’s too steady for spite. His voice is soft, quiet, almost curious,“Haven’t you heard the sound of your body?” Otabek seems to be asking him.Yuri couldn’t have answered him, even if he wanted to.





	no more memories anymore

**Author's Note:**

> I'm mostly using this as an excuse to geek out about musicals and make a point, my two favorite things in the world. Please enjoy! 
> 
> ((*whispers* also this is my first time writing anything remotely close to sex so please be gentle))
> 
> (((Also this is horribly late and I'm so sorry about that)))

Yuri Plisetsky has plans to take the world by storm through stage-acting, and if that means that he has to send every single illiterate senior home crying because they don’t have a single acting bone in their body, then so fucking be it.

“You don’t have to be so mean to them,” Mila says after the tenth senior bursts into tears. He can’t even figure out why so many seniors are auditioning in the first place? And why are all of them so prone to crying? Have they never been rejected before? It’s almost impossible, with the way they’re acting.

“I’m just saying it like it is,” Yuri says. “They suck.”

“You’re being too harsh.” She looks over at the list of names, all of which Yuri had violently crossed out. “We need to cast an actor for, you know, the lead.”

“I’m not casting some sub-par actor who can’t even pass in a middle-school play.” Yuri has worked in this theatre since before he could walk and he’s always made sure he was damn good at his job. He could have done these lines in his sleep and he doesn’t know why people keep insisting on showing up when they can’t even do what they’re supposed to properly. 

He’s fought with too much to just get this play into production. He’s not allowing it to be anything less than perfect.

“Yuri this is just a  _ high school  _ play.”

Yuri sniffs. “That doesn’t mean we should just let it go to shit.” That’s one of the first things Lilia had drummed into him: There is absolutely no excuse for mediocrity. If you’re going to do something at all, make sure you’re going to be the damn best at that thing or why bother doing it at all?

“Why are you even here? Last I checked, I was in charge of casting. I didn’t go all the way home just for you to shout at me. I don’t have to be here, you know.”

“I’m here because I know you’re going to make a horrible choice! You almost accepted that idiot a while ago who had a stutter!”

“He was good!”

“He can barely remember his lines!”

“Well we have one more actor,” Mila sighs. “It’s not like we actually got a lot of choices with your choice of play. I don’t know what the fuck you’re going to do if they suck but I’m taking them so shut it.”

Yuri growls because like hell she will. He will go to every house in their goddamn district if it means he can find the perfect actor. “Just bring him in.”

“You have to stop pretending you’re actually in charge here, kitten,” Mila says. She glances down onto her list. “Otabek Altin, you’re up pal.”

Yuri freezes. And just like that, it feels like all the blood in Yuri’s body has frozen. Everything just stops. Nothing. No input. No output. He tries to open his mouth but nothing. He can’t make himself do anything. He’d been imagining their reunion in a thousand different ways, ranging from tentative to furious, but this--This-- This had not been one of them.

“Alright buddy,” Mila says. “You’re auditioning for Melchior Gabor, right?”

Yuri can feel Otabek’s eyes trying to burn a hole into him. He looks surprised, mouth parted open. Yuri tries to open his mouth to say something-- _ anything-- _ and absolutely nothing comes out. Fucking hell.

“Yes,” Otabek says.

Mila leans back, crossing her arms over her chest. Yuri can read exhaustion in the lines of her body and he’s probably the only person who can. He allows himself a moment to feel the tiniest bit guilty about it.  _ The tiniest bit. _

“Show me what you got, then.”

His voice comes out, the clear tenor that is permanently imprinted into Yuri’s memory. He will never admit to laying awake at night just playing the sound of that voice, singing, hoarse from all the screaming, but still beautiful. Strong and steadfast. Always sure of what he is and what he wants. The exact opposite of what Yuri is. God what had he even seen in Yuri?

He thought he’d never hear that voice ever again, and alright, he might have deserved it.

(Scratch that, he  _ definitely  _ deserves it.)

The song he’s singing is a duet, but he’s making it work as a single, or at least he is to Yuri. It’s not a single, not from the way that he’s looking at Yuri. Yuri had the conversation on his own two months ago, and Otabek hadn’t said anything. Just nodded and Yuri had been too scared to look at him to understand what that had mean. Now, now, Otabek is answering him, word per fucking word. And fuck, Yuri would have thought it would be spiteful but he should have known better; Otabek is never spiteful. He’s too steady for spite. His voice is soft, quiet, almost curious,

_ “Haven’t you heard the sound of your body?”  _ Otabek seems to be asking him. 

Yuri couldn’t have answered him, even if he wanted to.

 

\--

 

Theatre summer camp was something that was absolute hell, and then some, and Yuri loves every second of it.

He loves Lilia Baravnoskaya, though he’ll never admit to that on pain of death. He loves that she looks at him with the same look, something that’s a cross between mildly disapproving and disgusted, as she does with all of her students, despite the fact that he’s at least a full two years younger than everyone there. Fuck all of them. It’s not his fault that he’s young. He’s worked hard to be where he is and he’s damn good at what he does. He really doesn’t want to waste another summer to prove that, yes, he fucking deserves to be where he is.

He wants to get better. He’s not going to do that if he’s just constantly showing where he currently is. Lilia Baravnoskaya understands that. She treats with the same harshness she treats everyone else and Yuri absolutely thrives under it. 

He learns. He gets better. He ignores every single idiot around him because they’re not worth his time.

Another thing: Yuri’s pretty sure he’s also in love with Otabek Altin. Otabek Altin who looks him in the eye and made friends with Yuri on the very first day; the only person who did so. Who treats him like an equal, and is willing to go along with Yuri’s craziest plans. 

He’s also pretty sure that Otabek loves him back, or at the very least heavily likes or… Well there’s something there, at any rate. There’s something about the way Otabek looks at him. Yuri’s been a performer his entire life, he knows how to read expressions.

Yuri doesn’t know if he’s willing to admit any of that, either. He probably isn’t.

At any rate, Otabek doesn’t seem to be against Yuri kissing him.

It’s a hard kiss. Yuri’s seen a lot of people kiss because he’s fifteen and not a heathen. From plays to movies to random people he passes on the street on the way home from school. Hell, Yuri’s caught some people in the camp exchanging a few now and again. It’s normal. It’s something people do everyday. A part of life. Yuri’s never really seen the appeal in it but he does like Otabek.

Everyone always says that you kiss the people you like. Yuri doesn’t really get why but he’s not about to question it.

“Do you like it?” he asks, breathless. It had only taken a moment after they arrived in their shared room before Yuri had pounced, slamming Otabek against the door, and kissing him like his life depended on it and maybe it does. Yuri’s lips hurt a little from the kiss. Maybe it was too hard. Or maybe not hard enough. Are kisses supposed to hurt? 

Otabek is looking at him with dark eyes. His cheeks are red, lips swollen. He’s breathing hard, and Yuri can just feel the tightness in Otabek’s crotch, as close as they are to each other.

“Yura.” He says Yuri’s name like it had to be ripped out of him. Like it’s taking Otabek everything in him to say that one word.

“Did you like it?” Yuri insists. Otabek nods mutely. Yuri kisses him again because you should indulge in the things you like. It’s hard and fast. He pulls Otabek closer, closer and closer and closer. Otabek’s hand finds its way into Yuri’s hair. He pulls at it. Yuri has his arms around Otabek’s neck. 

“Yura.” Otabek is breathless, pushing against Yuri, hands running across every inch of his body. He can feel his entire body heating up with… anticipation? Excitement? Yuri’s not quite sure, to be honest. It settles hot and heavy on his skin, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Otabek kisses him again. Yuri feels Otabek’s tongue trying to poke into his mouth. Should Yuri let him? Do people actually do that? He pulls away, breathing heavily.

“What do you want to do?” he asks. They’ve somehow made it in the middle of the room, standing awfully close to each other. Yuri doesn’t remember moving. Doesn’t remember anything past Otabek and kiss and holy fuck. Otabek’s breath smells like peppermint which makes sense. He seems unhealthily obsessed with the flavor. “I don’t--I mean I--”

“Yura,” Otabek says for the third time. “Are you sure?” He’s looking at Yuri, full of dark eyes and hunger. The same hunger--there, simmering just under his skin, the same hunger in Yuri, he’s sure of it; but no one notices it for some reason. no one but Yuri--that drew Yuri to him in the first place except this time, all of it’s directed at  _ him.  _ The force of it all is nearly enough to knock Yuri to the ground, breathless. 

“I’m sure,” Yuri says. His body is trembling with this burning  _ need.  _ He’s not quite sure what to do with it. Otabek, it seems, knows exactly what to do about it. Yuri should probably let him take the lead.

Otabek lets out a shaky breath.

“Okay then,” he says. “Okay. Let’s--bed?”

Yuri nods and Otabek all but pushes him to the bed. Yuri’s hand still hasn’t moved from Otabek’s neck. His forehead is pressed against Otabek’s. His mouth seems to have a mind of its own, pressing small kisses against every inch of bare skin it can find. Otabek pushes him to lie down and Yuri does. Suddenly Otabek is above him, face too close, breaths mixing in with Yuri’s. The smell of peppermint is intoxicating. It must be what being drunk feels like. Otabek runs a hand through Yuri’s chest and the feel of it through his shirt makes Yuri shiver. He gulps, mouth suddenly dry.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says.

“Neither have I.”

Otabek’s hand travels downward to Yuri’s stomach and then…

“Shit,” Yuri says. “Motherfucking--”

Otabek looks up from underneath his eyelashes. Yuri thinks that he almost sees the beginnings of a smirk on his lips. Or maybe just a smile. It’s getting hard to distinguish and understand things around him.

“Do you like that?” Otabek asks.

Yuri’s voice doesn’t seem to want to work. His brain doesn’t seem to want to work. He tries to open his mouth and nothing, absolutely nothing comes out. There’s too much of everything. Too much heat, too much sweat, too much of that damn peppermint smell on Otabek’s mouth. Too much of Otabek, in general. Yuri doesn’t know how to take any of it in. He doesn’t even know if he’s supposed to.

Otabek’s hand moves downward, hands carefully sliding down the zipper of Yuri’s jeans, movements painfully slow. Excruciatingly, unforgivably slow. Yuri decides to take matters into his own hands, hands moving automatically and shoving his pants and underwear downward, freeing his rapidly growing erection. He has no patience for dithering.

“Move,” Yuri says.

Otabek’s hand hovers over it, a hair’s breath away. There but barely. Waiting for something. Yuri can’t tell if he’s being a fucking tease or polite.

“Fucking hell Beka,” Yuri bites out. “I’m going to kill you. Fucking move.”

Otabek’s eyes come up to meet his. There’s a question there, a hesitation, all burning and coiling around that all-consuming hunger. It’s enough to drive Yuri insane.

“I’m sure,” he says, or gasps out or whatever. He doesn’t quite understand how words work right now. Otabek nods. His lips find Yuri’s again and this time, the kiss is long and lingering. He presses a kiss to Yuri’s temple, to his jaw, then to the crook of his neck. He runs his tongue over Yuri’s nipple. He bites his lip, back tensing because god fucking hell that’s--

He moves downward, running his tongue over Yuri’s stomach, taking a moment to suck at Yuri’s belly button. His hands are sliding up and down Yuri’s thigh, close and closer, almost touching but not quite. Never touching. What. The. Fuck.

His mouth moves downward and then…

“Do it Beka!”

A breath of hesitation. Then and there, Yuri could have killed the man.

“Otabek Altin I swear to god--”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Otabek says quietly. “Should I--How do I--”

Yuri’s mouth falls open. How should he know? He can’t even seem to make his brain function any sort of coherent thought, let alone give instructions other than ‘ _ Do it _ ’. And even if he could… Yuri really doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’d been counting on Otabek--Otabek who is older, more experienced,  _ actually an adult, and don’t all adults already know how to have sex?-- _ to take the lead.

Apparently, that’s not what’s going to happen here today.

“I think you just… I mean just--”

“Swallow?”

Yuri swallows. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Swallow. And uh… Suck, I guess?” Jesus Christ. Yuri did not think this part through.

Yuri feels Otabek’s head lowering down, tongue gently stroking, probing. Otabek takes Yuri into him slowly, like he’s savoring it, or more likely, like he’s trying to figure out how to do it without choking. How  _ are  _ you supposed to do it without choking? He presses a kiss to the tip of Yuri’s cock, then wraps his lips around it slowly, slowly taking Yuri in. Yuri doesn’t know what there is to savor. He doesn’t know what there  _ is.  _ It’s all just a confusing blur of images and sensations and things he doesn’t know. There’s an uncontrollable warmth in his entire body, taking over his thoughts, his everything. The feel of it makes Yuri want to scream. He settles for biting at his lips and pulling at Otabek’s hair. 

“Faster,” he gasps out. “Yes. That’s--Like that, Beka--Christ how are you--”

Otabek doesn’t answer, too busy taking Yuri deeper into him. Deeper and deeper and how is it even possible for Otabek to take it that far. It shouldn’t have been. It shouldn’t have been. Yuri’s pretty good at biology and no, the things Otabek is doing with his mouth on Yuri it can’t have been…

How the hell… Jesus Christ.

Otabek’s throat tighten around Yuri but Otabek’s showing no sign of relenting, sucking and taking Yuri deeper and deeper into him. That’s determination right there.

“I’m going to--Beka I’m going to--”

Otabek nods and it’s almost a relief when he pulls away. Sensations reduced by a fraction, making absolutely no fucking difference--before Yuri loses all control. Before he gives himself over and comes with a small cry. Shit shit shit.

Fuck.

Yuri doesn’t know how long he to compose himself, to come back to the world. His body is, thankfully, cooling down. He feels exhausted, drained. He just lies there, breathing in and out, waiting for his body to calm the fuck down. In and out. His mind is having trouble focusing, thoughts slipping away like sand through his fingers. In and out. In and… He looks over at Otabek, who is sitting at the edge of the bed, looking as exhausted as Yuri feels. He’s red in the face, panting hard, eyes dark, cheeks stained with tears. He’s biting his lips, staring at Yuri like he’s the only thing in the world.

“How are you still completely dressed?” Yuri’s voice comes out as weak and hoarse. Not at all like the demand he wanted to make.

“I was a little… distracted.”

Yuri snorts despite himself. There’s an emptiness settling deep in his chest and he doesn’t know if he likes it. He feels hollowed out; drained. He’s gaining some control over his thoughts again. 

“You were crying,” Yuri says. “Did you not like it? Was it bad?”

Otabek shakes his head slowly.

“It was amazing, Yura.”

“If you’re lying--”

“It was amazing.”

“Alright.” Yuri pushes himself upward, though he wants nothing more than to lie there and pass out. He pulls Otabek’s head towards him, taking him for another deep kiss. Otabek’s crotch presses against Yuri’s thigh and oh. 

Oh. Right. Right.

Right.

“You’re turn,” Yuri says when they pull away. His voice comes out as a breathless gasp. Otabek’s arm, which had settled on Yuri’s thigh, tightens.

“Yura, you don’t have to--”

“Don’t you want me to?” Yuri had thought Otabek would want him to. It does make sense for him not to want Yuri to, after what he’d put Yuri through. Yuri’s not sure if he wants to go through it again, to be honest. With the way he’s looking at Yuri right now, with a gaze that could set Yuri on fire if he tried hard enough, coupled with those tear stains on his cheeks, Yuri’s not sure what to make of any of it.

Otabek lets out a shaky breath. Then another. His grip on Yuri tightens. 

“You,” he says, “are going to be the death of me.”

“I’m not,” Yuri says. “This is going to feel nice.” He pushes himself forward, reaching for Otabek’s pants. He’s wearing sweatpants, thank god, and there’s no more fumbling with the zipper. It takes a little more time than Yuri would have liked for the two of them to untangle from each other, and there are more flailing limbs than either dancer would care to admit, but still, they get there. He pulls Otabek’s pants and underwear down, taking him into his hand. This, Yuri knows better than blowjobs. This is more familiar. This is something he can understand.

He strokes Otabek, slowly, then faster and faster. Otabek is clutching his arm, trembling against Yuri. It’s an odd sensation, knowing that Otabek is probably feeling what he felt earlier. His head is beginning to clear. The movements of his hand is grounding, steady. Otabek is trembling and Yuri is watching with a distant sort of fascination. Had he really looked like that, earlier? With that flush in his cheeks, those wide eyes, sweat beading his forehead? Had Otabek made Yuri sound like that, with such desperation? Had he really trembled as much, like he’s filled with endless energy that’s about to burst from his skin any moment?

He kisses Otabek; a quick peck on the lips, then one on the cheek. Otabek’s mouth finds its way onto Yuri’s neck. It’s hot and slick.

Otabek comes in Yuri’s hand abruptly. His head collapses against Yuri’s chest. Yuri lets go. He wants to put his hand on Otabek’s head and run his fingers through his hair but his hands feel sticky and disgusting. Yuri bites his lip. Otabek seems to be too busy recovering. What was Yuri supposed to do?

“How--How do you feel?”

Otabek doesn’t answer. He lets out a deep rumbling that sounds a lot like a groan.  _ Was that supposed to be a good thing _ ? The high Yuri had been on earlier is rapidly fading and now Yuri just feels exhausted and confused. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

“Beka, how do you feel? Are you alright?”

There’s that deep rumbling again and Yuri realizes that it’s laughter. Otabek is… laughing. No, actually, he’s not laughing.  _ He’s giggling.  _ What the fuck?

“What?” Yuri demands. Otabek’s entire body is trembling with laughter. Yuri doesn’t know how he’s supposed to react to this.

“It was--It was amazing, Yura. The best feeling I’ve ever had.” Otabek looks up and he’s smiling at Yuri, bright and carefree in the way that he rarely is. It makes something flutter in Yuri’s chest.

“That’s good,” Yuri says, feeling ridiculously inadequate. “I--Me too.” 

Otabek’s smile widens marginally at his words. “Really?”

“Yes,” Yuri lies. “The best.”

He doesn’t have the heart to say otherwise because he is not a complete monster. He genuinely likes Otabek and well, he doesn’t think saying, ‘It was nice but I wouldn’t call it anywhere near the best feeling of my life’ is a thing you say to people you like about the sex you just had.

Okay. Whatever. Yuri is an actor. He can work with this.

 

\--

 

They go through the cast list, and Yuri, of course, involves himself. Of course he needs to be involved. This is by all rights his play. It sounds a bit arrogant, but yeah, it’s fucking his. He chose it and he fucking fought for it. Yakov had shouted himself hoarse when Yuri had suggested the musical--some nonsense about angry mothers and did Yuri want to bring down a Christian pastor and well-meaning religious maniacs on them-- and Yuri had shouted right back, twice as loud, because Yuri will get his way. It had taken Lilia’s intervention (who was apparently Yakov’s ex-wife, what the fuck?) and three shouting matches for Yakov to finally relent. Whatever. He’s secretly pleased inside, Yuri can tell. The play’s going to work and it’s going to be fucking amazing.

“What the fuck?”

Mila groans, burying her face in her pillow. They’re going over the list in her room, Mila’s mother had brought them cookies. She, in her own words, is taking a break from the hellscape that is college, and is helping out with the production. Technically, she’s stage manager but in reality, she also doubles as casting manager, and an actress. They don’t have nearly enough people in their town to fill all positions.

Yuri had barged into her room, and refuse to budge. He most definitely did not come for the cookies. That’s just ridiculous. He’s sitting at the foot of Mila’s bed, Mila’s left foot literally right next to his ear. So what if Mila’s mother had given him a plate full chocolate chip mint cookies? That’s just her regular hospitality and Yuri’s not about to turn her down.

“What now?”

“Are you kidding me with this list? Seriously?” It would have been fine. It should have been fine. By all rights of sanity and logic, Mila’s choices are perfect fits and yet…

And yet.

“I told you he’d be the lead,” Mila says. “He auditioned to be the lead. You were there when he auditioned.”

Yuri doesn’t answer. He tries to scoff but he doesn’t think it comes out right. More like a breath. Not very believable. He shoves another two cookies into his mouth.

“Why are you complaining? He was good. Even you have to admit he was good.”

He was. Yuri would have to admit that, hell, he’s not ashamed to admit that. Otabek is an amazing actor, almost as good as Yuri, and a divine singer. Yuri can only dream of having the guy’s steady, soothing voice. He’d known that ever since he first watched the guy perform. There’s no shame in admitting the truth. What there is shame in is…

“But Melchior Gabor? Seriously?”

“Why not?”

“He just doesn’t…” It doesn’t fit, he thinks. Otabek seems like Mechior’s polar opposite, quiet where Melchior had been loud, accommodating when Melchior’s a bit too forceful. Otabek is grounded in every way that Melchior is not.

Or maybe that was the point. They’re actors. This is what they’re supposed to do, be the people they’re not. Yuri’s very good at it and so is Otabek. Otabek is very, very good at it. Maybe better than Yuri had given him credit for. He absently reaches for the plate and realizes that he’s run out of cookies. Dammit.

“It doesn’t seem right,” is what he settles on.

“I think he’ll be great,” Mila says. She sits up and steals a cookie from Yuri’s plate. “He has this air, you know? A quieter ‘fight me’ thing.”

Yuri raises an eyebrow. “Fight me?”

“Why not?” Mila shrugs. “He’s advocating for sex ed in 19th century Germany. You sort of have to have a ‘fight me’ attitude for that, don’t you think.”

“But Beka? Seriously?”

Mila nudges his head with her foot. “Give him a chance. I think he’d be a good fit. Have you heard the way he sings?  _ Damn. _ ”

Yuri hisses and ducks away, cheeks red. Otabek just had to sing  _ that  _ song, and Yuri can almost imagine his familiar touch lingering on his skin. His burning eyes, hands reaching out and…

Fucking hell. Yuri shuts all of it down because no, just no. He is really not thinking about this right now. He has better things to do.

“Besides,” Mila says. “You still have zero say in this. Technically, you are merely an actor, subject to my wishes.”

Yuri groans. Technically, Mila is right but damn it. “You are insufferable.”

“I love you too, Yura. You know,” Mila says. “I think there’s something deeper here. You don’t usually get this pissy.” Yuri snorts. His hand is absently running through the plate, checking over and over if there’s still any cookies left, as if repetitive motions will make any difference. “Okay, you usually get this pissy, but you’re usually more objective about it, not like  _ this. _ ”

Yuri sniffs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“This is personal,” Mila says. Yuri doesn’t answer. He’s not going to give her the satisfaction.

“You know each other,” she says. Yuri grunts.

“Oh my god you do! Where did you even meet?”

Yuri doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to answer anything from her. She holds his head between his feet, nudging his ear with her toes. What the fuck?

“I’ll bake you more cookies if you talk,” she offers.

“You can’t cook,” Yuri says.

“I’ll tell my mom to come up here and bring you some more.”

Yuri doesn’t want to let on how much of a tempting offer that actually was but Mila is apparently more astute than he thought.

“Theatre camp,” he says. “We were roommates, okay?”

“The same theatre camp where our little Yura lost his--Oh my god.”

“Shut the fuck up or I will kill you and no one will find the body.”

“Oh my god,” Mila says. “You slept together, didn’t you? He’s The Guy.”

Yuri turns red. “Jesus Christ Mila!”

“The same guy you--”

“Shut up!”

Mila lets out a low whistle. Yuri wonders what the quickest way to kill her would be. Stabbing would be too bloody but he feels like it would be satisfying. He wonders if Mila’s mom will still give him cookies even after Mila’s dead. Probably not, though.

Is it worth it, though?

“Is this why you’re so against it?” Mila asks. “Is it going to be a problem, because that would not be cool, Yuri. You’re the one insisting that this is more than a high school theatre group.”

“Shut up you ugly hag!”

“Is it going to be a problem?” Mila repeats. “It was pretty bad, wasn’t it? You were crying.”

“I was not.”

“Yura,” Mila says, “is this going to be okay?”

Is it going to be okay? Hell fucking no, it’s not going to be okay.. He remembers the fallout of when Yuri had broken things off. That had mostly been Yuri’s fault, since he couldn’t even look Otabek in the eye, much less sing dance with him. Otabek had tried, dear god he’d tried as hard as he could, but Yuri’s an expert at getting anything he puts his mind to. And back then, he’d wanted nothing more than to get away.

He remembers calling Mila, and yeah, he had been crying. Practically sobbing because he hadn’t wanted to break things off, he never did but Otabek deserves way better than what Yuri can give. Yuri can’t give him what he wants. Otabek deserves someone who can.

But then Yuri had fought with his blood and soul to get this production approved. His ears still hurt from his shouting matches with Yakov and he’s already come so far. He’s not going to let some things such as personal problems stop him from getting what he wants.

Yuri is very, very good at getting anything he puts his mind to; he’d been doing it since before he learned how to  _ talk. _

(That’s what he said to himself before The Performance where he absolutely crashed and burned but Yuri’s pointedly ignoring that.

Keep moving forward, and all that shit. He knows he’s better than that; he just needs to access the part of himself that actually is.)

“It’s not a problem,” he tells Mila. “Now go and get me my damn cookies.”

 

\--

 

Yuri thinks that maybe, quite possibly, things might be a problem. 

Possibly. He’s not making any broad, sweeping statements that’s going to get him fucked one day, but it might be a problem. There’s still a way to salvage this.  _ He knows there is.  _ It’s not even that big of a problem, all things considered. It’s not. There are children starving in Africa and in the context of the universe, Yuri’s problems are inconsequential and easy to fix, which means that he  _ will  _ find a way to fix it. 

He will. 

Maybe if Yuri says it enough times it’ll actually be true.

They’ve made out twice more after that First Time, and well, apparently things like that lose their novelty over time, not that they had much of a novelty to begin with. There are only so many ways you can come up with before it becomes too much of a cliche. It begins too quickly and ends way too abruptly, in Yuri’s opinion, and do people really write entire plays about this? 

Otabek seems to think differently, if his eyes, almost constantly alight with a newfound excitement, are anything to judge by. He seems so genuinely happy whenever they’re together that Yuri doesn’t have the heart to be the one to take it away. He’s the most relaxed when they’re lying together in bed after doing It. Yuri is just exhausted but Otabek… Otabek looks so happy.

It’s odd. Yuri doesn’t think he’s ever had anyone he wanted to protect like this; the world is harsh and so is he and people have to learn to deal with that. 

He can’t bring himself to be harsh to Otabek, though. Yuri doesn’t know how to deal with  _ that _ .

It’s not really a problem. Otabek likes it and Yuri doesn’t feel anything towards it. He doesn’t feel anything towards lots of things, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to do them, especially if they’re going to get him something he wants. And Yuri very much wants to make Otabek happy.

(There’s a voice in the back of his brain that sounds very much like Katsudon telling him that communication is important in any relationship. Yuri repeatedly tells it to shut the fuck up but to no avail.

Katsudon always had been a persistent little shit.)

He greets Otabek with a kiss to the lips when he enters their room. It’s customary at this point. It still feels weird but who really questions traditions? Otabek kisses him back.

Otabek smiles at him. He’s wearing a faded t-shirt and sweatpants which means he probably just came from dance practice. Yuri almost backtracks. Dance practice is exhausting enough without the added burden of serious conversations.

“How’ve you been?” Yuri asks. Otabek shrugs.

“Dance practice,” Otabek says. “We must’ve ran through our piece a thousand times. I’m exhausted.”

“The hip hop one?” Otabek hums in agreement. His hand is around Yuri’s waist, guiding him to Otabek’s bed. His finger is absently tracing circles on Yuri’s side. They sit down together, thighs brushing against each other. Yuri immediately tenses. What did this mean? Did Otabek want to do something? They’ve been at it for weeks and Yuri’s finding it impossible to predict. Nothing has changed in their relationship except for the fact that they’ve added making out to their list of activities. Yuri wishes that they had a schedule for this kind of thing. Schedules would make things much, much simpler.

Otabek looks at him, a tiny frown on his lips and Yuri forces himself to relax. Or at least Yuri sees the frown, the question. Most people don’t get Otabek’s facial expressions.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Relax. Relax. Relax. Damn it, They’ve never had this problem before and Yuri wishes that his brain would get with the program and start acting normally again.

“You’re upset about something,” Otabek says. “You’ve been upset about it for a long time, I think.” Alarm bells are going off in Yuri’s brain. Shit. Shit. Shit. He is better at acting cool than this.

“Beka…”

“Yura.” Otabek’s frown deepens and Yuri feels like a horrible person. “You can talk to me, you know that right? You don’t have to hide.”

“I’m not,” Yuri says. He scoots away, ever so slightly. Just slightly, so that Otabek doesn’t notice. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I’m changing my dance performance. The solo,” Yuri blurts out. Otabek, to his credit, only raises an eyebrow in reaction. The hand on Yuri’s waist tenses slightly but other than that, no reaction. This doesn’t have anything to do with his actual problem but it’s probably a good way to get there.

Probably.

Yuri’s counting on it, anyway.

Shit fucking shit shit shit. He really hadn’t meant to say  _ that  _ of all things.

“The one Lilia personally chose and choreographed for you to personally do?” Otabek asks. “That solo?”

“Yes. That one.” Damn it. This is not the conversation Yuri wants to have. He’d thought he’d put off this conversation until the end of the week at least.

“The same Lilia who almost never choreographs for anyone anymore?” 

Yuri nods.

Otabek’s eyebrows rise further. No one says no to Lilia, everyone knows this, even Yuri. It’s not so much as suicide as fighting twenty dragons with a matchstick; something mythical and downright insane that no one even thinks of doing because it’s just  _ that  _ crazy. 

“What do you have in mind?” Otabek asks.

Yuri shows him. He already has a rough idea of the choreography sketched out on his phone. He just needs music and...

Otabek lets out a shaky exhale. Yuri can understand the sentiment.

“You’re insane,” Otabek says, which, okay, fair enough.

“I need you to join me,” Yuri says. “It’s a duet. Duet-ish. I have a plan. Oh, and you need to pick the music because I’m shit at that and you’re amazing.”

“You’re insane,” Otabek repeats.

“ _ Beka. _ Please.”

“Why?” Beka looks perplexed. “This--Why now?  _ Why _ ?”

Yuri bites his lip. Because he’s trying really, really hard. Because there’s this huge gap between what he wants and what he thinks he wants and what he actually does and fuck, Yuri has no idea why he keeps letting it happen. He’s himself and people need to learn to deal with that, even if he hasn’t figured out what ‘himself’ is. Because maybe all those stupid traditional things he’s been subjected to since he was a kid had ruined his self-expression for forever. “I want to?”

“Not good enough.”

“I want to,” Yuri says, clenching his teeth. “That should be a good enough of a reason, right? People keep telling me what I should and shouldn’t be. They say I have the perfect body for ballet so I’ve been doing it since I was three, but I haven’t been allowed to dance modern till I met Lilia because it would ruin my form, and even she says I’m suited for traditional. I actually fucking hate traditional. It’s my body and it’s my dancing, shouldn’t I be the one to figure it out what I want to do with it?”

Otabek regards him for a long time. “You’re right,” he says. “But are you sure about this? Lilia’s going to be angry.”

Yuri waves him off. “Lilia’s always angry. She’ll get over with it. Are you with me or not?”

Otabek smiles at him. He takes Yuri’s hand in his and presses a small kiss to his knuckles. It’s small gestures of affection like these that leaves Yuri helplessly charmed. Otabek gives them away so easily, like he doesn’t understand what they do to Yuri. Like he’s not making Yuri weak in the knees and willing to do unbelievably stupid things in his name.

“I’m with you.”

Yuri gulps. Definitely a problem.

 

\--

 

_ “Where I go, when I go there _

_ No more memory anymore _

_ Only men on distant ships _

_ The women swimming with them to shore” _

 

_ “Where I go, when I go there _

_ No more whispering anymore _

_ only hymns upon your lips _

_ the mystic wisdom rising--” _

 

“Stop for the love of god stop!”

Yuri pauses, looking up. Yakov looks furious. Yuri doesn’t find this surprising. Yakov is usually furious. His face is red, eyes glaring at them, arms crossed over his chest. Yuri braces himself for the shouting.

It’s the third day of rehearsals. They’re getting started on the blockings and doing rough run-throughs. They don’t exactly have a lot of time on their hands. The casts did a small introduction on the first day and they’d dived right into it.

Minami is playing Wendla. The kid’s a year below Yuri and has a face that everyone wants to protect. Of course, Minami is very good at maximizing this fact. She is very good at playing innocent and everyone around her absolutely eats it up. Yuri knows this by the gaggle of men, and women, who constantly follow her around, practically drooling.

Leo and some kid named Guang-Hong are playing Hanschen and Ernst. They seem a bit too green, in Yuri’s opinion, but he has to admit they are pretty adorable. It’s doable. Mila herself is doing Ilse. It would be a good choice if the mere thought of flirting with Mila onstage didn’t make Yuri shudder.

Otabek is Melchior Gabor. Otabek who had apparently moved to Yuri’s town out of pure coincidence, is now going to the same school as Yuri, and signed up for a play that Yuri knows he’s especially fond of.

Yuri’s not thinking about that part yet. It’s only two days into the rehearsals. He can afford not to think about it yet.

He’s not going to say that he’s impressed with Mila’s casting choices, but okay he’s pretty impressed.

“Do you know what this song is about? Do you know what this musical is about?” Yakov demands. Behind him, Katsudon is watching him with a furrowed brow. He and Viktor switch being Yakov’s assistant every other week so that the other could actually have a career. It’s a stupid arrangement but it seems to work for the two of them.

Yuri absolutely cannot believe that he’s actually Viktor’s the one assisting this week, if only for the fact that Katsudon is way too perceptive when he puts his mind to it. There’s no hiding anything from him.

Yuri glares. “Of course I fucking know. I picked it out.”

“What are you doing, then?” Yakov demands. This is their first time running through the songs on-stage. Yuri’s spent the past week playing the musical on repeat, to get the songs in his head. “Why do both of you have that look on your faces? You’re supposed to be…”

“Jerking off?” Mila suggests. Yakov turns an even brighter shade of red.

“Yes that! The two of you sound like you’d rather be anywhere but here.” Which is actually the case, as far as Yuri is concerned. 

“It’s the first time,” Yuri mutters. “Give us a break.”

“You’re uncomfortable,” Katsudon says quietly. “The both of you are tense.”

Yuri glares at him and as usual, Katsudon stares back, undaunted. Things are not going his way.

Otabek clears his throat. Yuri tries very hard to not look at him.

“I think Yura and I need to talk first,” he says. Yakov raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. Katsudon’s brow furrows even further.

“Take five,” Yakov yells to the theatre at large because of course Otabek manages to corner him and have a  _ conversation  _ with him. Yuri is not above running away, contrary to popular belief..

“Yura,” he says. “I think we should talk.”

He’s holding Yuri by the arm. He still calls him Yura and it grates on Yuri. He doesn’t deserve to be called Yura by this man, as if they’re still friends. They aren’t friends anymore. Yuri tries to pull away because that’s what he usually does. It’s worked for him so far and there’s no reason it’s not going to work now.

Spoiler Alert: It doesn’t work.

“We need to talk,” Otabek repeats, with more force than he’s ever used on Yuri. Yuri falls still.

“What do you want?” Yuri asks. “I thought everything was clear between us.” Yuri had made everything clear enough: he’s a horrible, horrible person who should burn in hell for being a complete asshole.

Otabek deserves much better than him.

“No,” Otabek says. “Absolutely nothing is clear between us. That’s the problem.”

Yuri takes a forceful step back. He puts on his most hateful sneer and hopes that it works.

“How can it not be clear?” he asks. “I told you, I hated it. Every minute of it.” He’s not lying. Not technically, anyway.

Okay, he’s lying a bit.

(Maybe a lot.)

“You’ve said this before.”

“You should probably listen to me then.”

“Yura,” Otabek says. His eyes look right through Yuri, right into his soul. Yuri could never hide anything from him. “You know that I’m with you in everything you want to do but why do I get the feeling that you’re not doing this for you?”

Yuri swallows and looks away.

“Shut up,” he says and of course, he fucking walks away. He walks away because sometimes, it feels like it’s the only thing he actually knows how to do.

Otabek grabs his arm and Yuri almost falls still but he doesn’t. He wrenches his arm away and walks away because he really is that horrible.

“ _ Yuri Plisetsky _ .” Otabek takes a deep breath as Yuri falls still. “We’re talking.”

Yuri rounds on him. Do it for the play, he tells himself. Do it for the play. Do it for the motherfucking play.

“Fine,” he says. “Let’s talk. How do you want to play this scene?”

“That’s not--”

“Well it’s the only talk you’re going to get, so come on, start talking. Melchior and Moritz are supposed to be best friends, right? But still, jerking off and wet dreams aren’t exactly things you talk about with  _ anyone. _ ”

Otabek crosses his arms over his chest and glares at him.

“That shows how much Moritz trusts Melchior a lot, don’t you think?” he shoots back. “Like you said, it’s a sensitive, really taboo topic and he knows Melchior won’t judge him and will be able to help him through it.”

“Fat lot of good that did,’ Yuri says. “It only made his situation worse.”

“Fine,” Otabek says. “I’m supposed to be teaching you about this, right? You’re a kid who doesn’t know anything, who’s too scared to even ask about all these things he’s suddenly experiencing, so you turn to me and--”

“You show that you know way more than I do,” Yuri snaps. “Because you do. Because you had more experience, you  _ knew  _ more and it led me to feel worse about myself.”

“That’s not fair. I was in the same boat as you. You think Melchior knew what he was doing? He’s a kid who just read a few more books. He’s just good at pretending he did, that’s all.”

“I never asked you to pretend!” Yuri shouts. “I didn’t want you to pretend. I thought you liked it.” Yuri would have given the world to Otabek if he had wanted. Yuri would have given him  _ everything. _

Yuri falls still. His fists are clenched and he’s breathing heavily. Otabek’s hand reaches out as if to try and touch him and hell fucking no. No. He can’t.

The theatre continues to buzz around them. No one even looks up. By this point, everybody’s used to Yuri’s shouting.

“I did,” Otabek says softly. “I liked what we had a lot and I thought you did too. I never asked you to pretend, either. I don’t want you to pretend.”

Yuri tightens his fists, digging his nails into his palm. It hurts but not enough; not enough to cancel out the clenching in his chest. 

“Five minutes is over,” he says. “We’re done here.”

 

\--

 

Yuri has a key to a studio, given to him by Lilia because he asked for it. She’d actually looked proud when he did, or maybe that was just Yuri’s imagination. He supposes that not very many people actually ask her for keys to the studio.

He wonders if she’ll still let him use the room if she knows what he’s doing with his time.

“It has to be rock,” Yuri says. Otabek hates ballet, Yuri does not; he loves it, loves the absolute control it gives him over everything.. Otabek has taken to watching Yuri do barre work instead of joining him like a sane person would because you need to stretch properly Beka, Christ.

Otabek had merely waved him off, saying he’d already stretched before he got there. Yuri hadn’t really believed him but hey, if there’s anyone out there who knows their limits, it’s Otabek.

“Something metal,” Yuri says.

Otabek raises an eyebrow. He takes a small step towards Yuri. “That’s not a very narrow spectrum,” he says.

“Think about it this way: the exact opposite of what Lilia is making me do.”

Another step closer. Yuri is nearly a head taller than Otabek, despite being two years younger. They’re close enough for Yuri to simply reach out and take Otabek’s hand in his. He almost does, too, but then he realizes that it sounds  lot like something the Katsudon and Viktor would do, and manages to stop himself.

“So something angry?”

“Allegro Appasionato’s angry.”

“It’s full of fury turned into beauty, like an avenging angel,” Otabek says. “You just want the fury.”

Yuri grins, baring his teeth. “I want to destroy everything.”

Otabek nods sharply, like he expected this. “I have just the thing,” he says.

Yuri smiles. “I knew you would. Dance with me?”

Otabek frowns slightly. “You know I can’t dance ballet.” 

Yuri rolls his eyes. “First, you can, don’t lie. Second, I wasn’t talking about ballet, dumbass.” This time, he takes Otabek’s hand and puts it on his shoulder, gently guiding it downwards. “Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to dance other things. Play me some music. Whatever you want. We’re going to dance.”

Otabek nearly drops his phone in his haste to do what Yuri says. It’s the only visible reaction he has to the situation. The music he plays is typical of Otabek, loud with a lot of screaming. Yuri grins, liking it automatically. It could work. Lilia will hate it, heck even Viktor who’s all about surprising people might hate it, and Yuri could use that for that reason alone.

He pulls Otabek towards him, pressing their bodies close together. He continues to guide Otabek’s hand, now from his ribs to his waist, as slowly as he can. His feet move out of its own accord, circling Otabek as closely as possible. Otabek’s eyes follow him like he can’t stop himself. Yuri waits for the perfect moment, when he’s just in the exact spot and then--

He launches in a series of jetes, forming a wider circle around Otabek, throw in a piroutte here and there for the fun of it; because he can and no one can stop him. A dozen dizzying chaines. He pauses right in front of Otabek, once he’s circled him once, twice, thrice? Yuri’s not really counting right now--that’s for later. Right now, he’s just dancing.

“You said it wasn’t going to be ballet.” Otabek’s voice is reproachful but there’s a hint of fondness in it, too.

“Watch me,” Yuri demands, not waiting for Otabek to answer. He’s moving on instinct, not letting himself think about anything and just  _ dances.  _ Yuri doesn’t remember the last time he did that; when the only person in charge of his movements was him. He unzips the hoodie he’s wearing and lets it fall to the ground. He hesitates for a moment, and decides oh what the hell, and takes off his practice shirt as well, leaving only the sleeveless undershirt underneath. Okay, he can do this.

The music picks up and Yuri moves, not caring, not thinking. He must look crazy to Otabek, circling him wildly, like some crazy person, spinning spinning and spinning. He jumps, splits, backflip. Ballet, hip-hop, Yuri doesn’t bother keeping track. That’s not the point. This dance is his.

He holds out his hand inches away from Otabek’s face.

“Take my hand,” he orders. Otabek doesn’t hesitate before ripping his glove of with his hand and sending Yuri off into a dizzying set if pirouettes. Yuri stops, offering his other hand to Otabek. This time, Otabek does hesitate, before ripping Yuri’s glove out with his teeth. 

Yuri feels giddy.

This. This is the best thing he’s ever felt. Something better than freedom, better than dancing. This is him, harsh and mad and undefined. He hardly notices his last moves, falling to the ground in a dramatic drop, arm over his chest as the music dies down. Something that is sincerely, honest to god,  _ his. _

For a moment, there’s only silence, punctured only by Yuri’s heavy breathing.

He pushes himself up, grinning at Otabek.

“What did you thi--”

Yuri is interrupted by Otabek surging forward, and seizing Yuri into a violent kiss. Yuri tenses and he can’t quite help flinching away. Otabek pulls back abruptly, eyes wide.

“Yura, I’m sorry I surprised you--I--”

“I-I have to go,” Yuri manages to force out.

And for what is probably the first time in his life, he flees.

 

\--

 

He’s taken to watching Otabek whenever he doesn’t have to be onstage. Mila was right because of course she was. Otabek’s quiet presence draws everyone’s eyes to him, as if they can’t look away. He speaks his lines and it’s like there’s a beacon onstage, guiding, imploring, telling everyone what they should and should not do. It would have looked like confidence on anyone else but Yuri can’t help but think that it’s just bravado.

All the kids in the play are all in the same goddamn sinking boat of uncertainty and ignorance; Melchior’s just better at faking it. Otabek, it seems, is very good at playing someone faking their way through life.

It’s not an interpretation Yuri’s ever seen but… it fits. Otabek is an amazing actor, and Yuri can’t help but fall in--

No. That’s not--Yuri’s not going down that road again.

“So,” a familiar voice says, sliding into the seat next to Yuri. “Otabek.”

“Fuck off Katsudon,” Yuri says. “I’m not in the mood.”

He ignores Yuri, as usual. It’s his turn being assistant director, apparently. It’s happening more and more often, ever since Katsudon joined up with their group. Yakov seems to prefer him to Viktor, mostly because Katsudon doesn’t try to override every decision Yakov makes, just makes quiet suggestions until he gets his way.

“He’s pretty good,” Katsudon says. “And he’s adjusting well.”

“Did I fucking ask?”

“His family’s very supportive. I only spoke to them once, when they brought over some pie, but I don’t think they approve of acting but they want him to be happy.”

“Get to the point or get the fuck out of here.” Because that’s the thing with Katsudon, he always has a goddamn point. He’d go about it in the most complicated, convoluted way possible, but there’s always something. Sometimes, Yuri wonders if anyone’s taught that man how to use words.

“Mila says that you met each other at theatre camp,” Yuuri says. “He’s the guy you called me about.”

Yuri grunts. He didn’t so much as call Katsudon as  _ Lilia  _ called his grandfather who called Viktor and who then told Katsudon who called Yuri about it.

Honestly, he won’t be surprised if he found out that the entire town knew about it at this point.

“You seem to like him.”

“ _ I what?! _ ”

Katsudon shrugs. “You do. You always pretend to hate the people you like. You did it with me, remember?”

“I do not--”

Katsudon waves him off. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Yuri wants to sink into his chair. He wants to sink into his chair and  _ die. _

Onstage, Otabek and Minami are holding each other, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes, revelling in the afterglow of their newfound relationship. The calm before the absolute shitstorm they’re about to go through. Yuri should really get onstage. He’s the bringer of the shitstorm, after all. The goddamn cause for all of it because he can’t keep his fucking emotions to himself.

_ “Huge and dark _

_ Oh, our hearts _

_ Will murmur the blues from on high _

_ And whisper some silver reply.” _

“Have you at least talked to  _ him  _ about it?” Katsudon asks.

“Nothing left to talk about,” Yuri mutters.

Katsudon puts a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, g6ripping it slightly. “Take it from someone who’s had way too much experience with this thing, there’s always  _ something  _ to talk about.”

Rehearsals continue.

Yuri and Otabek circle each other like two planets on the verge of collision; their orbits get tighter and tighter with each passing second and Yuri’s just waiting for the inevitable explosion.

Their performances together are… surprisingly enough, decent. Not amazing, not legendary, but decent. Passable. Just barely scraping by, really, but it’s mostly Yuri’s fault. The two of them seems to have come to the mutual agreement  _ not  _ to talk about it. Otabek isn’t happy with it but, as usual, he lets Yuri have his way. That just makes guilt gnaw at every inch of Yuri’s skin because god, how much of an asshole can he possibly be?

Apparently, the biggest asshole in the universe.

Yakov corners the two of them at the end of a particularly bad practice.

“I don’t know what’s between the two of you, but fix it. I won’t stand for this kind of mediocrity tomorrow.”

He turns on his heel and leaves.

Yuri stands in stony silence, glaring at the spot Yakov had vacated.

“Do you--Let’s practice our lines.”

Yuri nods. 

“I have to catch up on some homework first,” he says. “Tomorrow? Here? I have a key.”

Otabek nods stiffly. “Alright,” he says. He turns to walk away but Yuri catches his arm. He forces himself to meet his eyes. Otabek’s the only person who makes Yuri want to run away. He’s Yuri Plisetsky and he really hates running.

“I know I ended things bad between us,” Yuri says. “But can we… put it on the side for now. I promise we’ll talk about it after but this play is really important to me. If not for me, do it for the other assholes who actually went through with this thing.”

Otabek’s eyes darken. For the life of him, Yuri can’t figure out what he’s thinking. “Alright,” he says. “But we are talking about it?”

Yuri nods tightly. “We are,” he says. 

Otabek sighs, pulling away from Yuri to run a hand over his face.

“Yuri,” he says. “Why do you--”

“Play first,” Yuri says. “Talking later.”

“Alright,” Otabek says. “We’ll talk later.”

 

\--

 

It’s almost impossible to avoid Otabek, given that he’s Yuri’s roommate, but Yuri tries his goddamn best anyway.

He has Otabek’s schedule memorized so he makes sure not to be in the room when he knows Otabek will be, and if he’s spending way more nights in the studio than in his own room, well that’s his own business and everyone else can shove off.

It’s petty and childish and Yuri doesn’t care. He  _ is  _ petty and people call him childish all the time, anyway. He is using that to his advantage. He ignores Otabek’s texts because no, he’s not dealing with that. Yuri has charged headlong into every situation he can for his entire life; he thinks he deserves a break for once.

Lilia has taken to watching him with even more narrowed eyes, words somehow sharper and more unforgiving. His leaps are sloppy and he can’t seem to get his head in the right space. It’s like there’s a constant buzzing around it, a fog he can’t clear or a… Something he doesn’t want to acknowledge. Something he’s running away from.

Yuri is on the precipice of crashing and burning and he knows it. 

“Pull yourself together,” Lilia snaps at him. “You are distracted!”

Time passes and practice continues and Yuri can’t bring himself to care about any of it. He avoids Otabek. He goes to practice but his heart isn’t in it, because why would it be? This isn’t the dance he wants to dance and what he did want to do had… Everything had gone wrong. So, so wrong and it was all his fault.

He can’t bring himself to summon the spite, the anger that he used to have. Anger means facing things head on, charging straight at something without a plan or hesitation, high on buckets and buckets of fury. How can he even think that when he ran away? When, when it mattered, he can’t even bring himself to look Otabek in the eye.

He doesn’t remember how he falls apart in his final performance, doesn’t remember falling at all. He hadn’t gone with the dance he’d choreographed, because what was the point? There… There isn’t.

The only thing he remembers is the aftermath; locked into the dressing room, shaking, sobbing. He remembers calling back home and not being able to string together two coherent words and hating himself more and more with each moment. He remembers the terror in everyone’s voices on the phone, the worry and he remembers feeling truly despicable.

He’s better than this. He’s supposed to be better than this.

(This is what he’s not sure he remembers: someone walking into the dressing room, talking to him in a soft, soothing voice, calm and familiar. He thinks he remembers a familiar touch, tentatively reaching out but Yuri had never been tentative in anything and he collapses against it, shaking hard enough to shatter.

“It’s alright,” the voice had murmured. “It’s going to be alright.”

It’s not. It’s the crashing of failure and hesitations and all the things Yuri never was, was forced to be, and it’s all falling apart. He can’t be what he wants to be--who does he want to be? Who is he supposed to be--and now, he can’t even be what other people want him to be. 

Who is he supposed to be without all those expectations?

“It’s alright.” The voice is soft and warm, curling against his ear. “You’re the strongest person I know, Yura. You’ll get through this.)

He remembers going home and staunchly refusing to talk about any of it, trying to forget it ever happened.

But it did. It happened, and sometimes, it was all Yuuri could stop himself from remembering.

It’s not something he’s going to forget, no matter how hard he tries.

 

\--

 

In the end, they end up talking about it the day before opening night.

Yuri takes him to his favorite milkshake joint, and sits him down. He orders for the two of them and waits until it’s on the table. He takes a sip, then another. 

Otabek speaks first because Yuri’s not going to be the one to.

“We’re talking about this now?” he asks. Yuri nods tightly.

“What do you want to talk about?”

Otabek studies his face, eyes searching. There’s that look that had intrigued Yuri in the first place; the look of someone who saw right through him, right through all his bullshit and bravado and into what he really wants to say. Yuri holds his gaze. He can’t say he understands Otabek, can’t say he really tried. He was afraid before. He’d run away before. He’s working on not being afraid now.

“You said Moritz didn’t want Melchior to pretend,” Otabek says softly. “What does he want then?”

Yuri sucks in a sharp friend. “He wants a friend,” he says.

“Just a friend?”

“No--Not just--I don’t know. He wants someone who understands him, or wants to try. He was the only one to try.” Yuri’s not good with words, actually really horrible at it. He doesn’t have the words to give Otabek what he wants. He doesn’t have the words to say what  _ he  _ wants.

“What do you want, Yura?”

“I don’t know!” Yuri clenches his fist. “I don’t know. I just--I liked what we had before. I liked being happy with you. I just don’t want the other stuff. I hated the other stuff and--I wanted to make you happy, Beka. That was it.”

Otabek frowns. His hand jerks as if to reach out. “Were you happy?”

Yuri thinks back. He thinks about Otabek’s smiles, Otabek’s laugh, the way they held each other watching movies on Otabek’s shitty laptop. He remembers their last dance and that inexplicable thought that  _ he was free. _

“I was,” he says. “I really was.”

Otabek’s fingers tentatively reaches out, brushing with Yuri’s. “I was too,” he murmurs. “For all of it.”

“I can’t do that--”

“ _ All of it _ , Yura,” Otabek says. “I don’t care about sex. I want you to be happy. I’m happy as long as you are.”

“Really?”

Yuri almost reaches out. Almost.

Otabek closes the distance between their hands, taking Yuri’s into his own. His palms are sweaty and trembling slightly. 

"Really,” he says.

 

\--

 

Yuri’s not really the one who’s supposed to choose the play but to hell with people telling him what to do. He’s picking himself up and if that means bullying people into agreeing with his decisions, then so fucking be it.

“Why this?” Yakov demands. “Have you gone crazy?”

That’s a likely thing but Yuri’s not admitting to it.

“Because,” he says. “I have something to prove and everyone will fucking listen.  _ Just watch me. _ ”

 

  
  
  
  


\--fini--

  
  
  
  



End file.
